A Day in Hackdirt
by SoulofChrysamere
Summary: A master thief's personal recollection of his darkest day as a youth.


What I'm about to record in this small booklet has been a scourge in my mind for many a long year. The nights of the past three and a half decades have seldom granted easy sleep, and I have oft found that constant fatigue as made my tongue sharp, my tolerance low, and my mind somewhat dull. In the hopes that the releasing of my personal inner demons into these pages may relieve the hauntings that assail me each night, I pen this tale.

I was but a youngster when it happened, a dirty street urchin who had not yet mastered the skills essential to the thief's trade. I stuck mostly to simple houses, stealing only what I needed to stay alive: food, water, clothes, and the occasional handful of coins. I was brash and impatient in the execution of my break-ins, though. My preplanning consisted solely of waiting for the owner of the house to leave on some errand. I would then attempt to gain entry by any means necessary, no matter how noisy or conspicuous it was. A rock through the window was a favorite method of mine. As I sit here and recall this now as an older, more experienced and accomplished thief, I am wholly doubtless that a higher power must have seen fit to bestow upon me an immense amount of luck, for I have yet to be caught even once while performing a heist, barring this one incident.

Reminiscences aside, there soon arrived the fateful day whose events and the scars they left in my psyche are the subjects of this work. The previous day, I had managed to secretly stow myself inside a carriage that was leaving my hometown of Cheydinhal for Chorrol, which was clear across on the other side of the province. It wasn't the first time I had left my hometown, for a wanderer seldom maintains a permanent residence. It also wasn't my first trip to Chorrol. Judging by the rate of travel, I guessed the carriage a nobleman's, for it wasn't hardly dusk when I dared to peek out of my crate and spied the towering trees of the Great Forest through the end of the wagon's cover.

It was at this moment, however, that my luck faltered a bit. I felt the carriage roll to a stop and the boots of the guards in the wagon with me start clinking with movement. One of them must have been a bit of a clumsy creature, since he stumbled into the crate of animal skins that housed me with a handsome amount of force. The shot banged me into the opposite side of the crate where some sharp object, which I suspect was a splinter or overlooked antler or claw, jabbed me in the upper part of my left arm. I let out a small, instinctive yelp, which the guards somehow succeeded in hearing among the shuffling of their own metal footwear.

The memory of the next few minutes was a bit amusing. Following my errant peep, I kept completely still and held my breath, not daring to make another sound of any kind. It was in vain, however, as one of the guards tore open the lid of the crate just a few seconds later. He managed to get out a brief alert to his partners before I was able to throw a hide in his face and slip by the whole troop and out of the caravan. I bolted to the right, heading for the thick cover of the Great Forest. I never looked back, though I could hear the angry screeches of the guards as they scrambled to grasp what had just transpired. One of them in particular, presumably the one I had assaulted, rattled off a few profane death threats in a laughable falsetto voice that have stuck with me to this very day.

My little legs carried me well into the woods, much farther than I had originally intended to flee. By the time I had stopped to hide and catch my breath, I had lost all ideas of where I was. After cresting and tumbling down the far side of the last in a long line of small hills, I dropped to my belly and slithered into a small clump of shrubs. I just lay there, expecting to hear the guards' voices and footsteps at any moment. The dying daylight only aided my paranoia as it fed the afternoon's last few sunbeams through the lush branches of the towering trees and my bushy hiding place. The men never showed, though.

In time, the adrenaline that had been coursing through my body had subsided and I was left drained beneath those scratchy bushes. My worry scarcely had time to shift from humanoid to animalistic dangers as the nighttime thickened, however. I quickly found myself drifting off into sleep despite my sad plight. I spent the rest of the night there underneath those shrubs, my childish frame totally at the mercies of whatever predators chanced upon me.

That night's sleep must have been deep indeed, for I remember nothing of it...not even any dreams, assuming that I experienced any. I was awakened by a fresh burst of reddish-orange sunlight from newly risen Magnus, although I lazily stirred under the bushes for a bit before emerging. Once I was on my feet and fully awake, however, I became alerted to the day's first dilemma: the bugs that had found my shabby tunic, breeches, and shoes appealing as homes. I spent what must have been a solid hour stripping down to nothing and picking the pests out of the fabrics. After I had donned my threads again, I elected to get moving and try to find Chorrol. At that moment, I had absolutely no idea where I was. My education as a whole was sparse, but my wilderness education specifically consisted only of the knowledge to avoid the predators and how to identify some edible and inedible plants. I had no clue in which direction Chorrol lay, or any idea of how to tell which direction was which.

As meager as my preparation for woodland romping was, it apparently wasn't so bad that my mysteriously good fortune couldn't use it to keep me going. Even though it was hopeful, aimless morningtime wandering, it was not a hungry affair. I made sure to keep one of my tunic's pockets as full as possible of edible berries and nuts. I wasn't equipped for hunting of course, so I really had no alternative. I had purposed in my mind that I would never touch a dead corpse of any kind in the wild. Although I didn't usually think of the what-ifs before committing an action, this time I did have the fearful revelation that some predators may very well stay close to and guard their kills.

I imagine it was around noontime when I at last spied crude wooden buildings through the relentless oaks. Little did I know when I approached it though, that those ramshackle structures comprised the accursed town that has left me forever shaken. When I first saw the town, my heart raced with the earnest hope that it was the Chorrol stablehouse or the wilderness residence of Honditar, Chorrol's resident Aldmeri hunter. These hopes were soon dashed when I set foot inside the town proper and saw it to be one of those tiny, isolated country villages. Now that I enjoy years of traveling experience throughout the Cyrodiilic countryside, I can comfortably say that, in my view, most small backwoods villages and towns are generally the same save for that one quirky quality that distinguishes them from their peers. Needless to say, I was completely oblivious to this particular town's unique property upon my arrival.

The first thing that I noticed was the complete lack of traffic outside of the buildings. Even in my then limited small-town experience, I knew that most places' inhabitants set about their chores very early in the morning, sometimes before daylight. I wasn't allowed to contemplate this strange fact for long, though. My rations of nuts and berries had stopped satisfying my stomach an hour prior and it was now growling for a piece of meat. As a general rule, I made sure to always intake at least one portion of meat per day, usually around noontime. This ill-timed craving for a substantial meal proved to be the second rotten circumstance for me that wretched day. It still bothers me a little that had I not been taken by that stern hunger, I would have just asked someone there the way to Chorrol and been on my merry way.

The ghost town-ish first impression of the place behind me, I began setting about locating some meat and possibly a vegetable or fruit to whisk away and enjoy for lunch. Sticking to my usual methodology of hitting normal houses whenever possible, I passed up the three large buildings which I took for the tradehouse, inn and diner, and chapel in favor of a smaller one. I encountered still nothing as I approached the building. In my haste to acquire food, I forwent my usual pre-burglary ritual of waiting for any occupants to leave and simply tore open one of the windows and climbed inside.

The shack's interior was typical of lower class countrypeople. A few crude fabrics passing as poor man's tapestries hung on the walls between a modest array consisting of a rough-hewn dresser, table and chair, and bed. The table was not set, but it did not take me long to spy the small stash of foodstuffs piled into one of the shack's corners. I quickly glanced around to see if anybody was there and then, not spotting anybody, I bolted for the food.

I swept aside the decoratively placed fruits and vegetables atop the containers and began tearing them open. There were only two barrels and a lone crate, so I was glad that my task would be a quick one. I opened the barrels first, and both only had more fruit and vegetables stuffed inside them. I decided to go ahead and procure a pair of carrots from one of them before concluding with the crate. When I lifted up the crate's lid, I spotted my true prize: the homeowner's stock of salted meats. My mouth began dripping with saliva as I started rummaging through the cuts.

The next event has been a source of incessant conjecture for me ever since I escaped Hackdirt. I imagine that it was as simple as the owner of the home stumbling upon me, who was lost in anticipation of the culinary revelry to come and unaware of my surroundings. Whatever the case may be, after a minute or so of fondling the different meats and trying to decide which one to take, I felt a brief pressure on top of my head before my vision went totally black.

I remember well the moment when I awoke after being knocked out. My first instinct was of course to move my body's joints to check for damage. I felt no pain when I moved them, but after a few seconds, I sensed a great, throbbing pain on top of my head. I at first clasped down hard out of reflex, but then resorted to gingerly rubbing it. I could tell by the knot's size that I had sustained quite a heavy blow.

Then, I began to inspect my surroundings. Horror instantly flooded me as I began to feel the cold stone beneath my hands and see the wall of metal bars sealing off the small alcove I was in. Just beyond, there lay a large campfire valiantly trying to stave off the looming darkness of an apparently large cavern. Apart from a lame cooking spit and handful of stools situated around the campfire, the visible section of the cavern seemed completely barren.

Now thoroughly panicked, I clasped the metal bars and began pulling and pushing on them while screaming pleas for assistance and release. I don't know how long I yelled for, but my voice eventually went hoarse and I had to stop due to the pain in my throat. I fell back onto the ground and took in heaping gulps of air. However, the sudden sound of footsteps beyond my cell caused me to freeze up in fear.

My head had snapped ahead and my eyes were fixated on what little of the cave was illuminated. I couldn't concentrate on from where the footsteps were coming for my wildly wandering imagination, but I was certain that they were coming for me. I was proven right when at last, I saw a rather portly man emerge from the rightmost darkness.

He was shirtless, and his leggings appeared to be naught but underwear, considering the size of his thighs and waist. He was loosely holding a simple wooden cudgel in his right hand, which he drummed against his leg. I don't remember anything of his face except the expression. I could tell by the snide smirk that he had been listening to my cries of terror like a sadist.

His voice, now...his voice was unforgettable. It was a deep-toned, Nordic accent with heavy Cyrodiilic overtones, and it had an eerie dryness and scratchiness to it, suggesting skooma addiction. His slow country drawl only made it more unsettling. Indeed, when he first spoke, I felt as though my heart had rattled apart.

"You hoarse yet, boy?" The man said as he arrived at my cell's bars.

I didn't respond. I wanted to hurl an insult at him, but my lips had sewn themselves shut out of dread.

The man gave a cruel snicker as he ran his club along the gridded metal. The fleeting echoes that were produced fed my sense of helplessness. But as he then proceeded to squat down and stare directly at me, my fear rapidly changed to sheer anger.

"What's a matta wich you, boy? You mute 'er somethin'?" He teased.

I spat at him before managing a pointed response. "Go bugger yourself, you fat bastard."

I tried to pack as much venom into those words as I could, but I imagine that my still squeaky nine-year-old voice betrayed any malice they might have othwerise had. He just guffawed even louder.

"Now now…that ain't no way for a youngin' like yerself to be a talkin'. You smooch yer ma with that mouth?" He continued.

I didn't respond that time. I just sat there silently for a while, contemplating my plight while he stared his crazed stare and hurled the occasional taunt at me. The bars were metal of course, but as I looked at them more closely, I could tell that they were heavily rusted – even the lock on the door. I had always been a scrawny lad, but I figured that even my prepubescent muscles could budge the badly decayed iron.

I remained quiet and bode my time, waiting for the fat guard to leave. Eventually, he ceased his mocking and walked off mumbling, probably annoyed that he didn't get anything else from me.

As soon as the man disappeared from view, I took off my shirt and ripped the sleeves off. I then tied the pieces of cloth around my shoes so they would help to muffle the sound of my kicks. After the cloth was secured and my shirt was back on, I started kicking away at a few of the bars left of the door.

As I had hoped, the decomposed metal slowly gave way as I kicked and pressed as hard as I could against it. The eerie creaks and squeaks it produced made me worry that either the portly man or somebody else would come to investigate as they echoed throughout the space, but very fortunately for me, nobody appeared. In time, I had managed to work the bars to the point of breakage. When I heard the coarse snap at the end of the metal's final defiant groan, I became so excited that I started to shake. I hurriedly bended the broken bars back and wormed my way through the opening.

Once free, I hastened left out of the light. Once masked by the darkness, I started creeping along while staying crouched. Frustrated that my night vision had become pitiful courtesy of the fire, I fumbled around for a bit and smashed into several old boxes and barrels. I eventually settled down and began slowly moving along before my antics alerted anybody.

I at last managed to find what appeared to be a passage, and my hope was rewarded as I neared it. I moved through quickly, not wishing to become bottlenecked by my captors.

As I emerged from the hallway, however, I heard a loud, deep, raspy voice that sent shivers throughout my body. It wasn't the same voice as the fat man, but much in the same vein...and it meant that I had been found out.

"Son of a troll, the rascal's done got loose!" Echoed the voice.

I was about to dash through another passage opposite the one I had just cleared when I saw a ladder leading upwards to a trapdoor off to the left. I instantly began scrambling up it and prayed that the hatch was unlocked. I was about halfway up it when I heard rapidly approaching footsteps coming from the hallway that I had taken. I looked back and seconds later, a pitifully skinny man swathed in tatters and clutching a plain stick appeared. He was defined, but not the kind born of healthy eating and exercise – the kind produced by heavy emaciation.

He looked up and spotted me on the ladder, and I started climbing up again. He hurled his stick at me, but the throw was wild and it hit the wall a good ways to the right. Afterwards, I heard heavier creaks on the rungs below me, indicating his pursuit.

After picking up the pace, I managed to reach the hatch. I didn't see any sort of handle or anything, so I just punched and hoped that the door wasn't secured somehow. To my delight, the boards popped up as my arm went through, and I pulled myself up through the hole and into a room of a building.

Once through, I slammed the lid shut and dragged a small nearby crate on top of it. I then looked around for a way out. I spied a door and a window. I tried the door first, but after finding locked, resorted to breaking open the window and climbing out that way – all the while hearing the man that had chased me up the ladder unsuccessfully trying to bash open the hatch in between curses.

When my feet hit the still-sunlit grass though, I was beset by more thugs from multiple directions. I darted off left into the woods, hoping that my small self would be able to outdistance everyone. I kept a healthy pace as I tore through the rugged and hilly terrain, and I managed to outperform all of my pursuers save for one that was apparently in good enough health to keep up. However, I eventually began to tire out. My tiny body was certainly fast, but the man's long legs kept him right there with me. Every time I would look back to observe his status, he was scarcely ten paces away.

Late into the chase, I stole another glance at the persistent fellow as I came to the top of another small hill and tripped over a rock, which sent me tumbling down the far side. My descent ended when I crashed through a heavily rotted fallen tree trunk and then slammed into a pair of adolescent trees just beyond. I hit stomach-first, and the wind was knocked right out of me. At first, I thought my ribs had broken, but the pain did not feel too bad. I had difficulty moving though, and my heart sank when I saw the man atop the hill. He wasted no time in coming down after me.

I tried to start running again, but I was still shocked from the sudden loss of air and couldn't get up to speed. I stopped again after a few more steps and plopped down next to a tall oak.

I managed to straighten up against the tree's trunk, and I could see that the man had finished descending the hill and was staggering toward me. He was breathing heavily, and his farmer's clothes were torn and blotched with blood from scratches sustained while traversing the hills. His neck-length blond hair was a scraggly mess, and his eyebrows were angrily furrowed above his wild blue eyes. It was truly gruesome to behold, now that I had little chance.

He spoke not a word as he approached, but he no doubt intended severe ill toward me. I couldn't really do anything about it, as I was out of breath and now in pain from my own cuts and scrapes acquired during the chase. And so I just sat there, a helpless prisoner of my fate.

But then, my fortune turned golden again. He wasn't even eight paces from me when both he and I heard a bunch of timid whimpers come from some bushes to the right which commanded our attention. I realized that they sounded canine, and my eyes widened when it hit me that we had disturbed some very young wolves. A few seconds later, a deep and heart-stopping growl accompanied the pups' squeals. I began violently trembling when I saw the mother emerge from behind the shrubbery.

For a bit, the enraged wolf shifted her gaze between me and the blond man, presumably trying to scare us off. I couldn't budge for my sheer fear, but when I looked back at the man, I could see him stumbling backward. Shortly, he broke into a full-fledged run, much to the wolf's displeasure. Deeming him as much more of a threat than me, she charged after him with triple the speed.

The man made it the few steps back to the hill he and I had just come over before the wolf was on him. I looked away as I saw him get taken down and start getting mangled. It was then that I, no less scared and more anxious than ever to get away, elected that I had to risk my own demise by slipping away while the wolf was busy with my would-be captor. I began hurriedly crawling opposite the mauling. After managing to slink over another small hill, I stood and began fleeing in earnest.

I don't know how long I spent running, but I'm sure it was quite a while. The whole time, I was certain that the wolf would certainly remember me and overtake me to finish me off, but she never came. I ended up slowing to a walk, but I didn't pause. I knew that I had to find some friendly civilization as quickly as possible.

In my haste to escape Hackdirt, I understandably hadn't paid any attention to which direction I was taking. I was just as lost now as I had been before entering that town. I knew that I had to move though, and so I just started moving.

Before long, the afternoon faded into dusk and I was faced with the double problem of dehydration and having to spend another evening in the wild. Despite this, I couldn't move any quicker for my overworked legs which were howling in pain from exertion. I just kept at it, hoping to find a road soon.

Not long before the onset of nighttime, my efforts were finally rewarded with a greater prize than I was expecting. I managed to claw my way up one last wide hill and was greeted with the walls and stables of Chorrol through a final short expanse of flora. My spirits soared and I received a renewed vigor at the sight, and I quickly hobbled to the gates.

The stable owner and staff had retired for the evening, but the gate guard walked out to meet me. His torchlit face oozed concern and pity. I definitely must have looked quite pathetic by that time with my hair an unkempt mess and both my clothes my skin torn to dirty, bloody pieces.

"Godsblood boy, what the hell's happened to you?" the guard asked.

I was of course going to tell my story, but I wanted in the city first.

"Could I come inside and sit down to talk, please?" I asked.

The guard readily consented and yelled to the gateman to open the gates. Once inside, the guard whisked me away to the chapel so the priest could see about my wounds. When he brought me in, the priest gasped and nearly dropped the bag he was carrying upon seeing my condition.

"Good heavens child, what's happened to you?" He asked as he dropped the sack and scurried over.

After being looked over for any serious injuries and taken down into the staff rooms for some food and water, I relayed the day's events to the priest and guard as best I could in between bites. I was frank with them. I didn't really expect them to believe the story, but I was too exhausted and beaten up to pop the excuse that I just got lost in the woods. Besides, I didn't see a point in lying anyway. I even admitted to breaking into the home. When I finished, both men thoughtfully rubbed their chins for a moment.

"Hackdirt." they chorused.

So then I had a name to match with the town.

"That's going too far for just a burglary." the guard added in reference to my attempted theft.

"Aye. You know, this isn't the first time those folks have done something like this." the priest agreed.

After I finished eating, the priest took me into his room, saying that I could use it for the night. He also brought me a clean change of clothes and gave my cuts and strained muscles some minor treatment.

"Good night, boy. And please, do refrain from stealing in the future – especially out in the country. Those people out there could have done much worse to you." He said after he finished.

When I heard the door click shut, my eyelids turned to lead and I began drifting off to sleep. Before long, I was passed out and likely snoring. I would obviously end up not heeding the priest's advice, but I wasn't going to refuse charity of any kind after what I had just endured.


End file.
